


The Forsaken Of Tomorrow

by Sunflowers_And_Roses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Implied/Referenced Torture, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, The Golden Trio, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27689761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunflowers_And_Roses/pseuds/Sunflowers_And_Roses
Summary: Call it luck or fate - either way Harry was confused.Harry had died killing Voldemort. This was a fact.He woke up in Gryffindor tower after he had died, only he was definitely not dead. That was also a fact.With the memories and scars of a future that had yet to happen, one thing was certain - he refused to die twice for the sake of some grand plan.
Relationships: Not Decided
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

He quietly excused himself from the common room, heading towards the bathroom grabbing his pyjamas from his trunk on the way too self conscious to change in a room without a lock. 

He got ready for bed, the dormitory silent - everyone was still in the common room talking about the Triwizard tournament. Harry rolled his eyes at the thought; none of them could name previous victors so the whole eternal glory thing was utter bullshit and as for risking your life for a bag of gold? He wasn’t interested at all and was looking forward to having a quiet year - well quiet for Hogwarts standards anyaways, cheering on the idiots who would willingly enter such a stupid competition. 

He gingerly lowered himself into his bed, drawing the curtains and reanimating the silencing wards around his bed. He lay down, careful not to aggravate his parting gift from his Uncle, an o so loving gesture as it always was, the wounds normally took a few weeks to heal properly and he didn’t look forward to the next few weeks of readjusting to ‘normal’ life, the regular meals, the human interaction, the quidditch training, the magic - all of it was overwhelming when he’d spent a summer locked up and abused. Sighing he let oblivion claim him.

\---

It was a windowless cage. The only light was that of a small crack under the door at the top of the stone stairs. If there had been more light however the stains on the walls and floor would be blatantly obvious. Bodies littered the dungeon in various stages of decay, the oldest being the three skeletons sat at the back of the room surrounded by gelatinous puddles. Blood and crushed bone fragments coated the room and - on the third step from the top was a small chunk of skull; hair stuck to the bone as the flesh had putrefied and withered away gluing it to the step, so close to freedom - close enough to make out the warding on the door and realise there was no getting out, before meeting their violent end on the very steps they thought were their salvation. 

A man kneeled naked at the centre of this stone cell, his arms bound behind him in thick shackles covered in magic dampening runes. He was obviously starved, his bones were clearly visible - most seemed to have an untreated break, this was especially evident in his ribs and hip. His skin - although surprisingly clean, was covered in scars, bruises and scabs all at various stages of healing, his hips and throat bore the worst of the bruising, vivid purple handprints that told a story far worse than simple torture. His body was littered in scars, his thighs bore the marks of a self inflicted torture but everything else - the belt lashes on his back, the carvings on his torso, the bites, the slashes, the curse scars, the large puncture scar on each of his upper arms, the small burns on his hands and forearm, the unbroken silver scar that wrapped around his neck - well it was all very obviously not self inflicted. 

The man was slumped over to the side and breathing raggedly, greasy black hair covering his flushed face as his heart fluttered too fast against the taunt skin on his chest. 

Water dripped onto the stone floor making gentle plip-ing noises; which, to the man, sounded like bombs going off, every droplet making him tense as if he expected some form of attack any second. Cold seemed to ooze from the stone floor and walls, seeping into the man's visible bones, who shuddered slightly at the cold and groaned. Moving slightly as the door began to unlock, hissing as his most likely punctured lung screamed in protest. It was a small movement but it caused his hair to fall out of his face, exposing a lightning bolt shaped scar that was crusted with blood.


	2. Chapter 2

“Up” commanded a man in a silver mask as he strode down the steps, seemingly unbothered by the gore. Harry knew who it was though. He’d been visited by him enough to know that it was Lucius Malfoy behind the silver mask and black robes, Lucious was particularly talented with a knife; he was responsible for the serpent carved into his skin over his ribs among others. Harry stood, his legs shaking, unused to holding up his body but knowing that it was easier than resisting. He’d learnt that the hard way. His chunk of skull on the third step from the top was a testament to that.

They had destroyed him, the lights’ golden boy had crumbled like coal under their onslaughts. It hadn't been too bad at first. They had started with his body but he was used to physical pain, to starvation, he knew everyone he loved was fine and so he stood defiant. He had tried to escape in those first few weeks, he thought he was being clever. He’d broken Bellatrix’s nose and done a runner, dashing up the stairs as his heart pounded. He’d nearly made it as well. He’d gotten as close as the third step from the top when he saw the warding, thick and layered - so complex it was likely done by the goblins. It was also at that moment that his legs were pulled out from under him with unimaginable force, his head slammed onto the corner of the step and all he remembered was convulsing as he watched his blood flow down the stairs. 

He awoke an hour later maybe, tied up again. He found out later that Narsissa had treated him, The Dark Lord needed him alive for the time being it seemed. It was only later that they realised he couldn’t die by anything other than Voldemort - “either must die at the hands of the other” apparently meant they could only die at the hands of the other. It had originally been a source of hope that he could escape, even after they had cut off his head - which is what led them to the discovery that he couldn’t die. But as the time went on, as the torture continued, as they started on his mind, it became a curse. They made him watch as they killed everyone. Every single member of the resistance, they all knew him - it made it worse in a way, so many people whose deaths he’d never forget but he’d never know their names, they had all looked to him in their final moments hoping for a miracle from him, some of them even begged him for it but he could do nothing, nothing except watch them die and smell their corpses rot before another was brought it. 

He was vaguely aware of Lucius pulling him to his feet as he noted that the stench should bother him more.

He hated what they’d done to him. They’d damaged him in far worse ways than his Uncle could’ve ever hoped to achieve, they had taken his will to live. They had killed everyone he could’ve saved, destroyed the few places he’d held dear, any victory now would be hollow, meaningless. There was no point in fighting, there was nothing, no one to fight for. All Harry wanted to do was end it, end the war, end his life. Voldemort wouldn’t kill him, as long as Harry lived it assured Voldemort's own survival and Harry couldn’t die by any other means until Voldemort was dead. It only left one option - kill Voldemort then kill himself.

Lucius shoved him to his knees, “M’lord.” he started, already halfway out of the door “The boy as requested.” Harry heard the door shut behind him and realised that this was it, this was his chance.

“M’lord.” Harry hissed - parseltongue easier than English at this point, as he remained on his knees, the better he submitted to them the less pain his friends died in - he’d learnt that the hard way. There was no one left now but he guessed old habits really did die hard.


	3. Chapter 3

“Harry” Voldemort hissed back, “Oh how I love seeing you broken” his slender hand underneath Harry's chin, forcing him to look at him. “You do make a good pet.” Voldemort crooned as he pushed up Harry's chin forcing him to stand “And you make such an excellent reward for my followers, really Harry you should’ve been a whore instead of trying to oppose me.” The dark lord laughed as he continued to mock him. “You gave up so quickly, you gave in like you were born to it. Though I suppose your mother was a mudblood so it makes sense you’d give in to your betters so easily. Even your body knows its place.” He laughed again, letting go of Harry's chin. 

“Taunt me all you want Riddle,” Harry spat, reminding the man of his own muggle father as anger surged through his body “but you made a mistake.” Harry laughed this time, it was a manic and unhinged sound.  
“You dare challenge me Whore?” Voldemort growled as slammed Harry into the wall, his hands wrapping around Harry's throat but Harry only smiled bearing his teeth, elongated K-9’s flashing in the dim light. 

Voldemort was unnerved, suddenly reminded that other species bare their teeth as a threat. He slammed Harry's head back onto the wall and let go of his throat, conjuring snakes and commanding them to bind the brat as he stepped back, a very small sane part of his brain screaming at him to get away from the threat.

Harry laughed, seemingly aware of Voldemorts’ thoughts, “You know” Harry started conversationally as the conjured snakes started wrapping around his body, “most species bare their teeth as a threat, a display of aggression.” He tilted his head as he stared at Voldemort, his eyes hardening “It’s a reminder that these clenched jaws can and will tear apart your yielding throat-” Harry was back handed again but he knew that it was now or never.

“Enough brat.” Commanded Voldemort, trying to regain control of the situation. Harry lunged forward, the conjured snakes crumbling like ash as he knocked Voldemort to the ground and Harry quickly wrapped his hands around the other man's throat. 

“You see Tom” He started as Tom flailed beneath him, his magic no use to him as Harry's own oppressive magic filled the air “You destroyed everything you could possibly use to control me.” Harry spat his eyes flashing dangerously, raw magic filled the room, and a wind started to whip around the two men cutting into the older one like knives. “You’re right though Tom I did give in, just not to you.” Harry’s eyes flashed dangerously and the skin beneath Harry’s hands started to bubble “I gave in to a darker side of me “ Voldemort’s mouth was open in a silent scream of agony, paralysed by Harry’s magic. “And that darker side wants your blood Tom.” Harry taunted, a feral grin on his face flashing elongated K-9’s. 

“You’ll never succeed” choked out Voldemort, forcing his magic to push back against Harry’s to try and free himself.

“Ah, but that doesn’t matter, does it? Because what are you gonna do? Kill me, wait no you tried that and I seem to remember that not working. So what, you’re gonna torture me? Ah, geeze, hate to break it to you but that’s what you’ve been doing since I arrived here. You see Tom ‘Neither can live whilst the other survives’, it's clear that I’m not dying so that only leaves you, surely you saw this coming? You are the one who places so much stock in prophecies after all.” 

Harry’s magic tore through the room, his eyes stone cold and his skin taking on an ethereal glow as more raw magic raged outwards from him like a tsunami. 

Staring at the face of his enemy as it contorted in hatred, the boy glowing with magic - Voldemort realised then, at that moment that he would die. As much as he hated to admit it Potter was strong, he’d faced every single one of his death eaters and allies ten times over and was still alive, still standing after all they’d done - after all he’d done. He cursed his own stupidity, he should’ve left the boy in a dungeon and bricked up the entrance. Instead he had given the boy as a reward to his most vicious followers and thought him broken when he started showing the effects of partial changes, he had believed that the boy losing his very humanity as he became a patchwork creature would tear his mind appart. Maybe it had torn too far. 

Harry didn’t know where his strength had come from, or why all his pain had disappeared but he didn’t care. The death of the last light had given him another purpose, even if it was the backstabbing, manipulative old coot.

Liquid fire coursed through his veins, and the fire was spreading. Voldemort disintegrated in his hands and with a scream worthy of a banshee; fire exploded from Harry burning faster and quicker than fendifire, out running the vampires, torching everyone and everything within a fifty mile radius within seconds. 

Harry’s magic ripped through the dark mark network, Death eaters all over the world screamed as fire emerged from their marks and burnt them alive. Voldemort's allies exploded in a mess of blood and bone whilst his supporters screamed as their skin peeled the whole world could hear the screams of the people who dared cross Harry James Potter and the smell of copper and smoke impregnated the air. 

Blood and ash coated Britain, and The-Boy-Who-Lived was in the middle of it all.

Harry stood, shaking and with the last dregs of his magic he conjured a blade.

The Golden Boy dragged the sharpened blade through his wrists, slashed both sides of his neck, then stabbed his heart and it was with one final battle cry that Harry collapsed to the floor. Harry lay in the crater he’d created as it filled with his blood, wishing it could’ve ended differently.

Later foreign magical ministries, having heard the screams, and choked on the smell of blood and smoke that shrouded the earth let alone Britain, portkeyed over to see what happened.  
They saw Britain burned to the ground muggles and magical beings alike, Hogwarts was nothing but ash and stone, but the most surprising of all was Gringots; all that was left was melted gold and ash, the dragon guarding the vaults was nothing but a pile of ash surrounded by melted gold,the goblins and all there armor didn’t save them this time, and in the center of it all was a scared, naked twenty year old year old. He was unharmed by the flames in the middle of a crater filled with his own blood but he seemed to have died a few hours ago, despite the multiple slashes covering his main arteries. His face was peaceful despite the destruction and death around him.  
“What in the bloody blazes happened here?” said the American minister, looking at the young man, surrounded by too much blood for it all to be his. He waved his wand and vanished the blood so they could get closer to this boy. The wounds continued to ooze and the boy was still warm, the minister pushed the boys back hair out of his face and stumbled back, nearly falling over in his haste to get away. “What is it?” asked French minister  
“The boy, he’s Harry Potter”.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a while since he had fallen to the floor and he was lying in a crater of his own blood, but his heart was still going, acting as if it hadn’t had a knife through it.  
By this point Harry was pissed off, he had fulfilled the bloody prophecy, so why wouldn’t fate let him die already?

The pain didn’t bother Harry, in fact he had gone numb a few minutes ago, Harry looked around lazily all he saw was ash and his own blood but that was it. Good Harry thought smugly. A few hours later Harry could feel his body shutting down Finally he thought relieved. He looked up and saw the full moon alone in the darkness, much like Harry had been for his whole life. He felt like he was being lifted and looked around only to see himself with a victorious smirk on his face, dead, lying in a pool of his own blood. Harry looked around and it was all black, burnt to a crisp. He decided to look around, he appeared on what used to be a beech, only the sand was black and the sea was turned into obsidian mid wave, feeling pleased with himself that the so called ‘Master of Death’ had been burnt to a crisp by an young twenty year old, he closed his eyes.  
Harry jerked awake, trying to gasp in air. He clawed at his throat, trying to pry of invisible hands that were choking him, but his hands met nothing, he writhed and bucked the sheen of cold sweat feeling like fire. He choked on a scream as his head felt like it was being cleaved in two, it was worse than any torture he’d ever felt. He was vaguely aware of blood splattering down his neck as the choked screams tore his throat. He hated it, he’d wanted to stay dead this time. It was all he wanted, death. To have no pain, to be removed from the cruelty of his current situation. To die over and over and over and come back every time, he just wished he’d stay dead.

His breathing settled down and he scowled, keeping his eyes shut in some desperate hope that he could just slip away into death with everyone else he’d loved. It was then that he realised something was wrong. He couldn’t taste the ash in the air or feel his blood coating his skin, the air was clean if stale and his skin, well it wasn't clean but it was definitely clothed. His eyes snapped open and he assessed his surroundings. 

Only he was in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitory. He didn't understand how this was possible when only a day ago he was a prisoner of the Dark lord and only seconds ago he was dead in a crater of his own blood, surrounded by the ash of a burnt country. He let out a small shaky breath, he was in less pain than he’d been in in years. He couldn’t believe it, he was back, he was back and alive and- his friends! He threw back his covers and reached out to rip back Ron’s curtains but stopped before he reached them. What if it was another trick? A new torture to torment him with? What if it was all in his head? If he was still trapped in Malfoy Manor? 

His shaking hand grasped the curtain, he wasn’t in Gryffindor for nothing, he threw back the curtain and – there was no death eater, not dead body, only Ron.  
“Ron!” he yelled practically pouncing on his long dead best friend “You’re alive” he cried, sobbing on Ron who’d just woken up.  
“Of course I’m alive mate,” he muttered groggily “You alright?” he asked seeing Harry properly 

“What's happened? Has- Bloody hell Harry what the fuck happened to you?” yelled Seamus who’d come over to see what had happened.  
“Seamus!” yelled Harry flying at him and pulling the Irish into a hug “I can’t believe it!”  
“Neville! Dean!” Harry yelled barrelling over to the both of them and pulling them into a hug.  
“Harry, mate,” breathed Ron, confusion and worry lacing his voice, all traces of sleep gone “What the fuck is going on?”


End file.
